by Tony Salter
‘OK.’ Dan took out the folded sheet of A4 paper which he’d been using as a bookmark. ‘I’ve made a few notes.’ He smoothed out the paper in front of him. ‘Let me explain my thinking first and then we can discuss. Is that all right?’
‘Of course it is, sweetheart,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘Good. The first bits are boring, but we need to get them out of the way. I’ve spoken to the doctors and they see no reason why I shouldn’t be reasonably mobile until quite close to the end. The pain will get worse, but they say that can be managed. The other boring thing is about money. I’ve spoken to my advisor, and he says you’ll be fine. Half of my pension will transfer to you, we don’t have a loan on the house and you have your own pension coming in any case.’
‘You don’t need to worry about that,’ said Rachel.
Dan leant forwards and placed two fingers gently on her lips. ‘I do and I have,’ he said. ‘Now, you promised not to interrupt.’
‘I’m sorry. Go on.’
‘I’ve made a list of places I always wanted to see,’ said Dan. ‘And I guess now is as good a time as any.’ He chuckled as he looked down at his scribbled notes. ‘I’ve put together an itinerary which I hope will work. It’s sort of a writer’s pilgrimage, but I want us to have a good time, to see the sights and to have fun together. Will you come with me?’
‘Of course I will, you great lummox. You think I’m going to let you go without me? I know what you’re like.’
‘There’s one part which you might not find such fun though …’
‘Let me be the judge of that.’
‘OK. So we fly to St Petersburg and spend a few days there doing the tours and visiting Dostoevsky and Pushkin’s graves, before taking the night train to Moscow – very romantic. From Moscow, we go to Beijing on the Transsiberian Express – I know I don’t have much time and it takes over a week, but I’ve always dreamt of crossing Russia and I have a plan to re-read every word that Dostoevsky wrote during that week.’ Dan looked at Rachel over the top of his glasses and attempted a cheeky, boyish grin. ‘You might find that part a little boring.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Rachel. ‘I almost did it when I was a student, but a friend cancelled on me at the last minute. It’s kinda on my list too. I’ll knit and look out of the window.’
‘Wonderful,’ said Dan. ‘So, from Beijing, we fly to Japan for two weeks. I haven’t figured out what to do yet, but I do want to go to Mishima’s grave in Tokyo. I thought I might leave the rest of the Japan itinerary to you. Then, from Japan, we fly to San Francisco, take a tram, eat some sourdough and then home.’ He paused for a few seconds. ‘Via Austin if you don’t mind?’
‘Why would I mind?’ said Rachel. ‘I’m too old to be jealous. That all sounds wonderful.’
As he leant forward to hug her, he saw a small girl – the youngest of the two he’d seen earlier – walk over and sit on the end of their bench. He would have sworn she was crying too.
Nadia
Nothing seemed unusual as she reached the junction of the Cromwell Road and Exhibition Road. There were no ARVs in sight. SCO19 must be snarled up somewhere. She was on her own.
Nadia ran along the path between the railings and the ice-rink courtyard. Groups of families and tourists were ambling along, oblivious to the reasons why this crazy, red-faced woman was pushing them out of the way.
She stopped at the top of the steps and took ten deep breaths before pushing open the door and stepping inside.
The security and bag check area was just as Nadia expected. Low key, no scanners, almost certainly staffed by amateurs. There was a metal table where some, but not all, bags would be checked and that was it. Only two guards were on duty; both were wearing scrappy purple fleeces which did nothing to make them look even slightly serious. One was a pimply adolescent boy, all Adam’s apple and bulging eyes; the other was a young woman, maybe mid-twenties with a big smile and a blonde bob. Of the two, she had to be the one in charge.
‘Hi,’ said Nadia, holding out her police warrant card. ‘I’m from the security services.’
The girl didn’t even look at the card. ‘Yes, I know,’ she said. ‘I just had a call from the police. They said you were coming. What’s going on?’ Her lower lip was trembling.
Nadia smiled. ‘Great. There’s no need to worry,’ she said, doing her best to exude calm confidence, despite her racing heart and the sweat running down the back of her blouse. ‘We’re carrying out a routine investigation of a possible terrorist threat. I can’t say more at this stage. Armed police should be arriving any time. They will give you further instructions, but for now, please don’t let anyone else into the museum.’
‘Should I press the alarm button?’
‘No,’ snapped Nadia. Was the girl deaf? ‘Whatever you do. Please don’t do that. Wait here for the police and then do what they tell you. I need to take a look inside.’
The girl nodded obediently and walked towards a small group of Chinese tourists who were waiting at the doorway.
Nadia checked her phone for updates. SCO19 were on their way. Ed was almost there and there was a direct message from David.
Do not approach the bomber, whatever the circumstances. SCO19 are securing the area and we’re waiting on new intel. Do not approach directly. Stand down. This is a direct order.
Nadia hunched forwards gripping the metal desk with both hand. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit,’ she said, to no-one in particular.
‘You all right?’ The girl had turned to face Nadia. Her face was chalk white and her arms were crossed tightly in front of her.
‘Yes. Of course,’ said Nadia, her mind racing. ‘I’m fine. Please wait for the police as I asked.’
She looked at her watch. Just over two minutes remaining. She had to do something. She couldn’t just stand there and watch as disaster struck. Not again.
Bloody David. He knew her too well – he knew her background, and he knew her psych profile. And the new smartarse comms system would register that she’d opened his message. How could he have deliberately put her in this position?
That ten-year-old girl had done her best. She’d run until it had felt like her heart was bursting. She’d found the garage and the owner with his tow truck. He’d called the police and then they’d raced off together with one of his mechanics.
But, by the time they reached the accident site, only the upper half of the car was showing above the water and big waves were crashing over it. As the men scrambled down the cliffs, dragging a cable behind them, Nadia could remember hearing someone screaming hysterically. For a while, she’d thought it must have been her mother crying for help, but then she’d realised it was her own voice. Beyond that her memories were blank.
The men from the garage had tried, they’d really tried, and so had she. But they were all too late
Nadia read the message from David one more time. He understood the way she thought, but then he also knew that, orders or no orders, she wasn’t going to run and hide while there was still a chance to help in some way.
Guilt had left her with painful memories which never stopped glowing within her. The guilty memories were like hot coals, ready to burst into flame at the slightest hint of fresh oxygen. During her teens and early twenties, her burning desire to right wrongs and save the day had led her into plenty of trouble.
The worst incident had been shortly after university. She’d been driving back from a party with her boyfriend of the time when they’d seen a couple arguing on the street. Just as they’d passed by, Nadia had been stunned to see the man slap the woman so hard that she’d fallen over. Nadia had told her boyfriend to stop and, despite his protestations, he had. She’d then leapt out of the car and run towards the man screaming and shouting.
He was clearly very drunk and staggered away from her, looking sheepish and apologetic. He hadn’t hit his girlfriend that hard … she was pissed … he hadn’t started the argument. Nadia was fired up and wasn’t intending to let him off that
lightly, but wanted to check on the woman first. She was turning to see how she was when she half-saw a white shape flying towards her. The fist hit Nadia clean on the end of her nose and she fell backwards. The woman was on her immediately, swearing, punching, screaming, threatening to scratch her eyes out.
Nadia might have been much more badly injured that night if it hadn’t been for a passing police car. Even though the police hadn’t stopped, the man had grabbed his girlfriend’s arm, pulled her up and dragged her away down an alley. The last Nadia had seen of them – through her rapidly swelling eyes – they’d been staggering off arm-in-arm like the happiest couple in the world.
It was only then that Nadia’s soon-to-be-ex boyfriend had run up to see if she was hurt. Would he really have sat cowering in the car while she was beaten to death? Luckily he hadn’t actually said ‘I told you not to interfere’. If he had, Nadia would have probably slapped him, as well as dumping him.
Coming at the end of a string of other, less traumatic, events, the drunken couple had taught her two very important lessons – firstly, that being a knight in shining armour was a dangerous occupation and, secondly, that people didn’t always want to be helped.
MI5 had proven to be the perfect balance for Nadia’s mission to save the world. She’d briefly considered the police or the army, but ten minutes into her first interview with David, she’d known exactly where she needed to be.
Her inner flames burned as strongly as ever, but were now tempered by years of experience and training. She understood why David had given the order and she appreciated that the situation was both complex and delicate.
She wouldn’t exactly obey the direct command, but she wouldn’t ignore it either.
Nadia walked slowly to the nearest pillar and slipped behind it, cheek pressed against the cold stone. She took out the Glock, checked it one more time and flicked off the safety. Then she peered around the edge of the pillar and carefully scanned the hall.
It wasn’t that crowded, thirty people at most. The nearest security guard was an old man, standing about fifty feet away, talking to a blonde woman. There was no sign of Snowflake. Maybe she’d got it all wrong. Maybe it was the wrong place.
She looked more carefully. There was something unusual about the young couple talking next to the dinosaur’s head. The girl was too young, and she wasn’t talking. It looked as though her boyfriend was shouting at her, waving his arms and pointing across the hall.
It was him. Snowflake was standing right there together with a young girl. What was that all about? He was leaning over her, telling her something, but he was mumbling too quietly for Nadia to hear.
She looked behind her. Ed had just walked in and was standing in the doorway talking to the security girl. He saw Nadia and beckoned for her to come over. She shook her head, signalled for him to stay where he was, and turned back to the dinosaur.
11:58
Jim
Jim looked at Shuna and watched her shoulders sag forward. In resignation? Sadness? Shame?
What had she expected from him after all? As he’d told her, there was actually nothing to forgive. He knew he’d brought everything on himself and, if it hadn’t been her, it would probably have been some other balls-up that delivered him his well-earned comeuppance.
What he wanted most of all was to stop caring what she felt. He’d begun to put it all behind him and then she showed up out of the blue, wanting to talk. Talk about what? There wasn’t anything to talk about.
But there she was, spotlit in the lone shaft of sunlight which streamed down from the high windows, head bowed and golden strands of hair falling over her eyes. What was it about the woman?
Jim forced himself to turn away. He’d opened up to this woman more than he had with anyone before, even himself. No good would come of it. If he ignored her for a minute or two, she’d bugger off and never come back. Then he could get on with rebuilding what was left of his life.
The Paki lad who’d been looking at the dinosaur like a little boy was still there, but now he was chatting to a girl. He was much taller than her – she was only a kid – and he was bending over her, arms waving.
He turned to Shuna who hadn’t moved. ‘Is that your girl talking to the young guy in the anorak?’ he said, pointing towards the dinosaur.
Shuna’s head jerked up. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘Is he a friend of hers? She looks upset.’
She shaded her eyes with one hand and squinted. ‘No. He’s not a friend. He’s just someone she met in a cafe earlier today. I saw them talking just now.’ She stepped back to get out of the sun. ‘She doesn’t look happy, does she? I’ll go over and see what’s up.’
But, before she could move, Zoe broke away and started walking – half-running – towards them, eyes wide open and clearly distressed. Jim watched carefully as the young man turned and carried on walking around the dinosaur, head down and hands in his pockets.
Something wasn’t right; Jim felt the hairs on his arms prickle and the once-familiar rush of adrenaline kick in. Zoe was running now, but the lad continued to pace around the dinosaur, no longer looking at anything but the floor. His lips were moving as though he was talking to himself.
Something was definitely off.
Hassan
She was only a child. And she’d been kind to him in the cafe.
Hassan knew he shouldn’t have warned her. As they’d drummed into him over and over, sympathy was a weakness, and weakness would risk everything. This was war and the other side didn’t have any scruples. Their bombs and missiles didn’t care about protecting women and children. The spotty young drone pilots sitting in Las Vegas had no idea of the misery they left behind them with their “surgical strikes”. Afterwards, they would leave the office like any other day, laughing and joking with friends as they went off to drink and womanise.
He understood all the reasons why he needed to harden his heart, even in the face of those nagging feelings that more violence would only feed the vicious cycle. He’d accepted the inevitable, and had worked hard to convince himself that what he was about to do was God’s will. Even so, he couldn’t help smiling as he watched the girl rush over to her mother. He had tried to spare one life and it wouldn’t make a difference. Nothing could stop him now and she would either be far enough away or she wouldn’t.
He would do what he had to do and God would decide the rest.
Life had been simple and good in Birmingham until, one day, the imam had called him into his office.
‘It’s been twelve months now,’ he said. ‘I had my doubts when you first came to us but, Allah-be-praised, you have been blessed with the strength to find your way back. I’m proud of you Hassan.’
Hassan bowed his head, wallowing in the warm glow which filled him. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I also believe it’s a miracle I’m here.’
‘Good. Do you believe you’re now ready to show gratitude to your God?’
‘Yes. Of course. What can I do?’
‘Let me start at the beginning,’ said the imam, leaning back in his chair. ‘I know you meet with your fellow students and I also know that many of you aren’t happy with the way the mosque works with the local community.’
Hassan focused on breathing regularly. How much did Imam Khan actually know? Sadiq was his son, after all.
The imam continued. ‘It’s difficult for your generation to understand why we do what we do. You were born here and you can’t see how far we’ve come over the past fifty years.’ He slowly traced a snaking line across the tabletop with his forefinger. ‘We’ve always tried our best to walk a narrow path to protect everyone’s interests as much as we can.’
‘But, with respect, it’s not enough. Look at what’s going on.’
‘Whatever you might think, your parents and grandparents feel the shame and divided loyalties more than you do. For them, the tragedy of the Middle East affects cherished family members and the homes they can still remember personally.’
‘Of course
. But it’s our government’s policies we’re talking about. Policies is too soft a word – it’s war. And it’s a war against Muslims. Surely you can’t buy in to that.’
‘It’s not about what I support or don’t support. It’s about finding a balance. About protecting everything we’ve achieved. It’s also about living in a democracy.’
‘But there’s so much more to be done. Even though I was born here, I still grew up as a "bloody Paki". I accept that things are probably better than they were, but we can’t just give up.’
‘No. And I understand that you and your friends are fired with the passions of youth. However this is a time for patience.’ He laid both hands palms down on the table in front of him and leant forwards. ‘Since 9-11, Islam has been losing the propaganda war. Al Qaida and ISIS have achieved many of their own narrow goals by firing up outrage and calls for Jihad amongst the faithful across the world, but it’s a double-edged sword. Being a Moslem is becoming synonymous with being an ignorant terrorist. If we don’t take great care, we risk going backwards rather than forwards.’
‘Isn’t that exactly what they want us to think?’ said Hassan. ‘To push us onto the back foot and make sure that we stay in our place.’
‘Maybe. But I doubt it,’ said the imam, suddenly looking old and tired. ‘In any case, my job is to help the ordinary people in my community. I don’t believe Allah put me here in order to foment hatred and conflict. How can that help the workers, mothers and children who just want to get on with their daily lives? It becomes a political problem as well as one of faith, but in any case, both require pragmatism.’